A Double Take to Topple a Kingdom

[Vito Rossau]

35 YMIDEN, ARC 720

Rarely felt and even less frequently displayed, anticipation filled the Tribunal’s silver-blooded veins and left him with an odd, lighter feeling in his chest. He would have thought it nervousness (and perhaps some of it was) if it weren’t for the woman at his side, the anxious Leonor that pulled in quiet, shaky breaths. Vito did not turn his red-eyed gaze to her, even when he saw her turn her head towards him in some desire for reassurance. He watched Herald Iria, and Herald Vatia, and he cared for nothing else.

He listened to instruction. He prayed as he should. He did everything that he was meant to do, nothing more but nothing less, for now was not the time for his ambitions. Now was the time to obey – to show reverence – to follow guidance but not depend upon praise. Tribunal Leonor would learn, in time, to do the same.

After their prayers fell to silence, and their heads raised from their dutiful bows, they were guided from the modest room again and out into the court. While Herald Vatia and the other Tribunals rejoined the rest of the Theocratum attendees, Vito and Leonor followed closely after the royal Herald Iria. In spite of his nerves (that frazzled, slightly, as he registered just how many people were in attendance and set to watch), he retained his calm exterior, and reminded himself of just how grand an opportunity it was. He had the honor, alongside Leonor, of displaying his pure devotion for Their Wounded Lord before such an important crowd – surely the attention would please He Who Bled.

Herald Iria took her place at the center of the royal seal. Vito and Leonor remained off to the side as instructed, standing stiff-backed and undistracted by the ongoing proceedings. He bowed when it was called for, deeply enough to show his utter respect but not so flashy as to draw attention away from those at the center of the floor. For all the eyes that would be upon them during the ritual, it was not about them.

The Queen, in all her grace and beauty, passed them by and took her place at her throne. The King entered soon after, severe but for the smile shared with his sister, and joined his wife at the throne beside hers. Only then, after the chanted hymns of the choir had finished out, did the ritual truly begin.

The verses, repeated and echoed again throughout Theocratum attendees and the royal court, brought the dark-haired Tribunal a deeper sense of calm. It was easier to ignore the watchful gazes of nobles and representatives and elite socialites when the familiar words were there to ground him, and remind him of his role and his duty to the court. Whatever time passed, it went largely unnoticed and unfelt by Vito Rossau, who let his thoughts drift from verse to verse as they were passed from the Herald to the people.

By the time Herald Iria motioned for the Tribunals to join her, he had found his resolve, and stamped out whatever nervousness had lingered in his limbs. Carrying a large bowl that contained all the instruments and cloths he would need, Vito walked forward to the center of the royal seal, with Leonor trailing just behind. His ritual dagger was blessed by the enthusiastic Herald, and he dipped his head in reverent thanks when it was handed back to him.

Wasting no time on uncertainty, Vito approached the young noble that had found the front of the line. Scarlet eyes flitted over the lad’s youthful face, and without a change in expression, the Tribunal moved to grant him his mark. Carved carefully into the boy’s forehead, where it might always be on full display, Vito allowed the blood to drip down into the bowl and then sent the young noble on his way.

Like this he continued, granting marks when he deemed fit and taking sacrifice, all the same, when he did not. One by one, as the nobles passed through the Dragoons’ staggered allowances, Vito wielded the blessed blade in the holy harvesting of blood.

It surprised him, somewhat, when he was presented with the increasingly familiar face of Woe. It was not an unpleasant surprise – he was glad to see the foreigner taking so quickly to proper sacrifice and faith – and the Tribunal did not allow it to distract him. Woe requested, in the native language of Quacia, to be given two marks.

Already covered by markings that Vito did not recognize, he looked over the mage’s bared skin, and his scarlet gaze brightened slightly in shade. Without a word, he raised the blade and carved a circle into the flesh, and then used the sharp, pointed tip to twist several dots into the center of it. The second mark was granted next, carved just as calmly as the first, and with a glance back up to the mage’s eyes, he sent him on his way, to continue down the line of waiting nobles.

[Strange]

After the chanting, the blood sacrifices were made in forms of scarification that would last the devotees' entire lives. The King and Queen presided over the ritual, quiet and observing with the reverence expected for the Theocratic rite.

Tribunal Vito did well, serving his role under the watchful eye of Herald Iria, while he carved the young noble's forehead with the religious mark. And like this, things continued between Vito and Leonor while the young Tribunals carved those nobles and elites who wished to devote themselves in greater measure to He Who Bleeds. Whether driven by the fear of the Creep's approach, or in fervor of their own faith, there were more sacrificial offers than usual.

Any who attended Court, however, was permitted to request blood sacrifice. The more blood split during the rite, the more powerfully blessed the proceedings were expected to be. It was not only an act of devotion for the Wounded God, but also for the monarchs in attendance.

Soon, Vito's ceremonial bowl had been filled with red and silver alike.

From Leonor, Duchess Callisto received a simple mark to her inner arm above another mark, near the crook of her elbow.

Toward the very last of the sacrifices was Woe... and a young female apprentice who wasn't nobility, but was part of the guilds. The apprentice knelt in front of Leonor, while Woe took to Vito's steady blade.

As Vito carved Woe with the requested marks, Leonor also focused on her work. But her blade was not as steady.

Stammered verses slipped out past Leonor's lips, when the apprentice gave an involuntary shout of pain. The blade had sunk deep, in a jagged upward line through the forearm. Deep crimson blood boiled out of the laceration, splashing so quick that it overflowed Leonor's ceremonial bowl and spattered the finely polished floor.

Woe's magnificent sacrifice, with all the glory of his magic on display for the entire court to see, soon became overshadowed by the apprentice's horrendous injury. The court chanted, at lead of Herald Vatia whose firm voice boomed a few powerful verses meant for such an occasion as a Tribunal's accidental brutal hand during a sacrifice.

Leonor, aghast and overwhelmed by what she'd done, moved away from the apprentice while Herald Iria took the blade from her.

"Here, the Wounded God calls to us," Iria proclaimed above the murmured chants - in Vahanic but obvious to her intent. "This woman's blood nourishes and her devotion is required in full sacrifice for the good of He Who Bleeds and for all of Quacia."

"E-espere, p-por favor..." gasped the apprentice while she grabbed at a cloth to try and stem the blood loss.

"Do not fear, child," said Herald Iria while she guided the young woman so she faced the King and Queen, and knelt in the center of the gold-and-ruby royal seal embedded to the floor. "It is the will of He Who Bleeds, the honor to give yourself in the name of our holy land, to protect and strengthen Quacia."

King Estavao's gaze - of golden-flashed eyes that glittered like the very gold in the seal below - slid over to his wife. Queen Elvira glanced back with eyes of emerald green. She nodded, and he stood up. The biqaj King stepped down the dais, to stand in front of the trembling apprentice.

The young woman stared up at him, her skin ashen pale from shock. Herald Iria pulled away the cloth from her wound so the blood would flow freely again, and the red gushed to the floor.

The court fell silent, as the chants were halted in wait of the King's word.

"With the grace of He Who Bleeds, as king and ruler of Quacia, the holy land and people of Our Wounded Lord, I accept your sacrifice," said Estavao, his voice rung loud and clear and silvery, echoed off the pillars and lofty ceiling. He set his palm over the forehead of the apprentice, then nodded. He let go, turned around, and headed back to his throne.

As he walked, Herald Iria slid the ritual dagger across the apprentice's throat.

Blood flowed out, while Iria guided the young woman's body to lay over the seal. She rolled up the sleeves, then cut the other forearm to bleed equally as much. Herald Iria gestured for Vito to pick up the bowls and help her. For this was a rare, but not unheard of, occurrence during the ritual that had very specific traditional instructions to it. Obsolete rites, rarely used, but still ones taught to those Tribunals who paid close attention during their studies. Iria picked up Leonor's bowl, and started to pour the collected blood along the golden lines of the seal - with expectation that Vito would do the same on the other side of the large seemingly-decorative design.

The Dragoons escorted Woe back to the Court, where Duchess Callisto quickly moved beside him and grabbed onto his arm with both her hands. She leaned close and whispered to the mortalborn, "Não é emocionante? Não vejo isso desde que era jovem." Is it not exciting? I haven't seen it since I was young.

Rather than flow outward, the blood sinked between narrow spaces in the gold lines. The rubies glowed while the fresh blood hit them, and then the entire seal lit up in scarlet glow. Cast in pure red, the monarchs observed this with very different expressions - the King, stoic with a slight frown - and the Queen with eyes of vivid green that almost seemed to glow as well and a small smile contained behind the tips of her fingers while she held her hand up as if to hold back a greater smile. Queen Elvira had moved to the very edge of her seat.

The chanting, led by Herald Vatia, began again.

It was all over, soon enough, though: when the apprentice's blood slowed to a halt and the king's seal had drank of all the blood given to it.

Herald Iria said a few words of closing the ceremony - while Herald Vatia approached, with silent instruction for Vito to help him pick up the lifeless apprentice and carry the body out of the court.

Disposal of the fresh corpse was a reverent task, done in silence. Yet while they set the body in an unseen room off the side, the older Herald nodded to Vito and simply said: "You did well, Vito."

Then, barring anything unusual, he led them back to the court.

By the time they returned, the court had proceeded with the actual business at hand. The Theocratum had settled into their seats or positions, and the Dragoons had done a quick sweep of patrol while the court shuffled around. Clerks and Court Officials moved around the bloody floor to make sure they wouldn't get the lingered mess on their neat and shiny shoes. They set up a couple desks for scribework with many scrolls and inkwells.

A clerk announcer cleared his throat, and held onto a scroll that hung down to his knees when he unfurled it. He started reading the order of business ahead.

It started with the Guilds. Each Guild had a representative to come forward and discuss the progression of their work in various ways. After the guilds, came the nobles...

...one of whom was not happy.

One old Baron Cezario had brought with him a great many maps and scrolls, which he threw on the floor and stomped his feet over them once he had the space for an audience. The Dragoons moved a little closer, but King Estavao raised a hand for them to let the noble be.

"Are you well, Baron Cezario..." offered the king in allowance for the man to speak.

"Oh, wish you'd use that power of observation on the damn Creep!" said the elderly Baron, clearly frazzled and at his wit's end, for the court gasped when they heard such attitude directed at the king himself. Of course, it was the same sort of attitude that Cezario once held with what had once been Prince Estavao, but only the sharper nobles remained aware of that. "I've lost my home, my lands, my... we all have! Look at us, we're all here! Every one of our baronies has fallen. The Royal Wood can't even be traveled through. They can't be stopped this time!"

"You can't stop it," the baron pointed at the nearest Dragoon with a shaking finger. He hobbled over to the railing that separated the court and pointed at Herald Vatia, "Nor you, or..." he pointed over at Duchess Callisto, "Not even you!"

"We're all going to die!" cried out the Baron while he raised his hands up to the sky in dramatic lamentation. "Quacia will perish!"

The elderly Baron, who now seemed far more agitated than a noble should be, hurried past one of the Dragoons who looked confused when the King waved a hand of dismissal again. Cezario reached one of the clerk's desk and searched through the papers with sarcastic laughter as he babbled about the guilds and their uselessness. A few groans sounded among the court.

Duchess Callisto leaned in close to Woe and said, though not in any whisper or hush, but rather even the nearby Tribunals could easily hear the woman's smooth Vahanic: "The poor man. He lost his entire family to the Creep this spring, six beautiful daughters and one fine young son for heir. Can you imagine? His wife couldn't. Rumor has it, she walked right to the Creep on her own choice and ignored his calls for her to stop. So tragic..."

"Why, Mister Morandi," she said as if in realization. "You're an Empath, aren't you? Isn't there anything you could do for him?"

And if he accepted, the duchess would assure the Dragoons to allow him to try... under the watchful guidance of a Theocratum agent by Woe's choice.

[Woe]

He watched carefully, as Vito's practiced knife-hand carved the bloody markings, drawing scars that would not heal within a lifetime. But Woe didn't mind. It wouldn't be the first time he was so marked. His hand drifted to the sword-shaped cross on his upper right cheek once Vito had concluded his work. A shocked gasp sounded from the mortalborn's right, and he beheld in bemused fascination as the other guild associate was bled grievously by what appeared to be a mistake. As the situation unfolded, and the young woman was led away toward the King and Queen, despite her pleas that they wait for her to bandage her laceration. Woe got to his feet and returned to Callisto's side. Once there, he watched the proceedings with profound interest.

There was something to this ritual, this blood-letting, and sacrifice. Something that went beyond Immortals and Invisible Gods. Beyond the mortal monarchs that stood before them all. As he watched them all go about the practiced rituals, he realized. They probably didn't even remember from whence their rituals came. Deep within Woe's subconscious though, something thrilled to the theatre of the sacrifice, as the knife was drawn against the woman's neck as if she were a Zi'da lamb led to slaughter.

As her blood-filled vessels, and she was placed face down on the seal, all the years ahead of that nubile young woman drained out of her in vivid, red rivulets. Woe's eyes widened, and he barely heard Callisto's remarks as the blood drained into the seal. He whispered, low, deep beneath his breath so that he thought nobody else would hear, "Her devotion pours out, only to fill a cracked vessel..." The epiphany of sorts hit him as he realized there was something powerful about this ritual. Something beyond what those gathered could reckon with. To them, it was a spectacle or an act of faith. Woe saw it as so much more.

It was a profound waste.

He dared to imagine in the place of the King's seal, his own, one of his making. An eye squeezed shut, with a scorpion tail, transposed over a ladder. Then the woman's devotion, her precious blood would fill his vessel. One of true divinity, that was not marred by the ravages of mortality and sparkless fallibility. Woe would stand by the Mage Queen, casting down her puppet of a husband who was so eager to please the elite. To please them with his hollow adherence to rites he did not understand. His tongue echoed words that held power untold when wielded by one who claimed birthright over such potency. A being called to power, and one the likes of which these mortals would never know..

Then the scene changed, as the woman was carted off, her exsanguinated husk pale and livid with the trauma and shock of losing her life so soon. The guilds came forward to discuss matters. Some time into the proceedings, a man began ranting and raving at the King, rushing after him. He looked to be a nobleman.

The baron Cezario ranted and raved for all the court to hear. Woe leaned in to hear Callisto's words. And he nodded to her, "De fato, mãe. Vou ver o que posso fazer por sua alma torturada" Of course, mum. I will see what I can do for his tortured soul.

So saying, Woe stepped carefully toward the man, beckoning without looking toward Vito. As he moved in, under the supervision of the young Tribunal, his hands were clearly held out, visible and removed from any threatening posture. He found the calm that was so elusive only a moment ago, and attuned to the man's frequency, trying to see if there was anything unusual about him. Barring his being anything other than an ordinary, grieving elder human, Woe began to speak, "Milord, You are in distress." An obvious statement, but one meant to elicit a retort so that Woe could monitor his tapestry, and find some source of calm within his tangle.

[Vito Rossau]

35 YMIDEN, ARC 720

As soon as both marks had been carved into the flesh of Woe, Vito shifted his gaze to the next in line… but a pained shout from the side broke his heavy focus. Caught off-guard by the sight of Leonor and the young apprentice, he did not yet continue with the sacrifices ahead, but paused with his ceremonial bowl and dagger in hand. Leonor’s distress with having caused such injury was obvious, but the anxious Tribunal was disregarded once Herald Iria stepped in.

With such ease did she take control, confidently guiding the young girl to the center of the royal seal. Vito’s eyes met Leonor’s for a moment as both Tribunals came to the same realization – but while Leonor appeared more anxious with the sudden need for sacrifice, he could not help but feel excited.

He held tight to the feeling, let it steady his fraying nerves with having been broken from the ritual; he had never actually seen this happen before. He had heard of it, read of it, he knew what they were meant to do – and he did his best to keep his building anticipation beneath the surface, but the bright glint in his red gaze betrayed his otherwise stoic face.

...His only regret, as he watched Herald Iria’s blade slice open the apprentice’s throat, was that he had not been the one to bring cause for such holy sacrifice.

As soon as the girl’s body was laid upon the seal, Vito moved forward to assist. Leonor lingered behind and steeled herself as much as she could, or at least, that was how it appeared to him, as her lower lip quivered but her head raised high. The dark-haired biqaj began to pour the gathered blood from his bowl, shimmering silver and red, to allow it to run along the golden lines of the seal. It seeped through the cracks, overran the bright red rubies, until all was aglow in their scarlet light.

Vito could not have put the right words to describe how he felt, as he observed. If there was one thing shown upon his face, in the glow of holy, bloody light, it was all the starry-eyed wonder of a believer’s faith confirmed. He fell easily into the repetition of familiar chants, fervent in his voicing of the words. He believed no differently than he had before; he had not needed any ritual to confirm or deny his faith, but it seemed to touch him deeply all the same.

Under Herald Vatia’s silent instruction, he stepped forward to help move the apprentice’s pale form, once she had served her full purpose. Although his gaze still reflected the same deep red of the royal seal’s rubies, his expression had evened out again, calmed easily by the return to normal protocol. Silent, he helped lift and carry the girl’s lifeless body. When the Herald’s voice reached his pointed ears, in the safety of a little room, he did not verbally respond – he would not assume permissions to do so, despite Vatia’s own allowance – but he did bow his head in gratitude, before they carried on.

A deep breath filled his lungs as he returned, with the stiff-backed Herald, to the court. It seemed that things would proceed as planned. He rejoined his fellow Tribunals in the Theocratum’s section, and with a calm (if slightly bored) expression, green eyes followed the movements of nobles and guildsmen… until one such nobleman sought to disrupt the scene. The shift in Vito’s expression was subtle, as irritation with such blatant displays of emotion laced his pale features.

Of course the Creep was an issue, of course it was something to be taken into consideration and dealt with – but this? Baron Cezario’s disrespect not only for the court, but for the king himself, made the Tribunal wonder just how long his passionate fit would be allowed. Whatever the nobleman’s intention – to incite panic, encourage doubt, stifle belief, whatever else – Vito could only hope that those in attendance did not fall victim to the old man’s ranting. That was all it was, truly.

A voice nearby broke his concentration on the dissatisfied noble. Perhaps he had been looking for a distraction; in any case, he listened to the woman’s words without looking over, while his dark green gaze remained in narrow observation of the Baron. The mention of Woe’s name sparked a bit of curiosity… but still he focused on the distressed Cezario, until, of course, Woe moved to approach the noble. The mage offered him no glances, but the gesture was enough, and Vito parted from the ranks of Tribunals to follow after the representative.

Cautious, but not afraid, Vito stood beside Woe in quiet observation of Baron Cezario. Whatever he thought of the mage’s plain statement, he kept it to himself. Duchess Callisto had said something of him being an Empath, and the Tribunal only hoped that Woe was using that fact as he should.

[Strange]

While the court watched, curious of the progression while Woe headed past the Dragoons after a quick explanation from Duchess Callisto to the King about the matter. It was she who also mentioned that he would do so under the watchful eye of a Theocratum agent. Her explanation soon followed with the High Almoner who confirmed the momentary trust in Woe. Combined with the fresh Theocratic marks on the foreigner's skin, the King allowed for it with a simple gesture of his hand.

Baron Cezario clung to crumpled scrolls of records. He waved them next to a very anxious yet weary clerk who seemed to be trying to get the old noble to stop from ruining the notes. When Woe approached, he turned around with a shake of his paper-filled fist, "What is this? Who are you?"

Woe gradually attuned to the man's frequency and notes burst through while he did so: Nobility. A father's grief. A state of worry for the world. desperation.

The statement he spoke to the elderly man only seemed to heighten the notes as they slammed against Woe in a range of various states that all made up the Baron Cezario; including an odd sentimental feeling that seemed to roil around many of the notes. A sense of personal connection to the court, itself. As if the court could be considered the only family that the Baron had left. This sort of conclusion inevitably made itself known to Woe through his attuning.

"Of course, I am distressed," shouted back the man, in the constant Vahanic, while he directed his fist with the papers at the foreigner. "What is this? This is not a matter for those not of Quacia. Get out of here, foreigner."

Through the tangle, Woe could observe the obvious frustration in prominent surface curls. Mixed in was anguish, and upset, and even anger. Beneath those threads, however was a bundle of threads that almost seemed to call to Woe: a deep, powerful, abiding sorrow.

Baron Cezario went toward the Tribunal instead, and said, "A proper Quacian would understand! Don't you, Tribunal? Don't you see that the end is near? You even poured the blood yourself into the seal! Have you all forgotten what these signs even mean?! These omens!"

A wave of groans and clicked tongues washed over the court's audience. Many women unfolded their fans to hide behind them and turn their gazes away as if it was too distasteful to continue to watch the old, frazzled man rant about such things. A few of the other barons and dukes started to mutter about how the dragoons should just step in and get on with the proceedings. It had been nearly three breaks since the start of Court, and people were starting to get antsy.

Cezario hobbled toward Vito, to shove the crumpled scrolls against the Tribunal's chest as if that would convince the younger Quacian of what he was saying.

Above on the dais platform, the Queen turned slightly and leaned with a quiet unheard whisper to King Estavao. He waved a hand though, another dismissal as he seemed intent to allow Cezario such privilege as to continue - or perhaps he had become curious what the foreign mage might do.

[Woe]

As Woe approached, flanked by the Tribunal Vito, Woe spared a sideways nod to the Theocrat in thanks for his presence. Then he let down his hands and was at ease. He only made one motion toward a Hospitality associate, one of those bearing the boxes that were meant to be a surprise for the Court of Arkenstone. Now was as appropriate a time as was likely to occur, if only to bolster the morale of the Court.

Woe accepted the box, and placed it down on the edge of the table, away from the papers. His tendrils dug beneath the surface of the man's sorrow, as he sensed it. And for a moment he was only content to watch the spread and quality of it while another tendril searched his tangle for a sense of hope. Woe had made a cursed of Ashan feel hope once upon a time. If he could do so for him, to stoke the man's vengeful spirits against the common enemy, there might be a way to break through the sorrow.

"Yes, I am Woe." He said simply and allowed the etheric venom to travel along with his connection to the man. "I will quit you soon, by the King's leave, have no worry Milord. But first, let me acknowledge that you are correct. Quacia will be fractured and turned to rubble."

He let that hang on the air a few moments, but then threw open the lid of the box, and took out the longsword within. "Yet, it will rebuild. With every brick and every stone laid upon the corner of a foundation, Quacia will rise again and again, no matter how many times it is thrown back against its own walls." Woe held the sword in its sheath for a few moments more.

Woe was half channeling Magpie's assumption that Quacia, while it would fall, would rise again. He took it to be a point of local pride. "Quacia is a city that lives perpetually on the edge of Cataclysm, having survived longer than any other without succumbing to the ravages of decay. Quacia will face the enemy, the very aspect of corruption, to thrust the fiery blade of retribution into its savage heart."

With these words, and with a drawing of the longsword from its sheath, Woe held the sword high so everyone saw. The Faldrunium blade glowed with the pent up energy of the fire-ward, which had insulated its burning glory. Here, if he found any semblance of hope or wish for a future in the old man, he would feed that, "The Guilds of War and Hospitality have seen to the forging of seven blades of this kind. To be given by the King to his chosen champions. Champions who must face the Creep when the time is right, and if necessary drive it back into the filth from whence it came."

Woe lowered the blade, and held it up horizontally, his other hand gripping the blade with a fire-warded rag that was inside the box. He held it aloft for all the court to inspect, and Cezario himself if wished, Forged by Eapheon Perfeita, the finest smith Quacia has ever produced, we present these weapons to the court, as a gift, and as a pledge that we will stand as one against this common foe. To stand against them together, and bring them the vengeance that their perennial rapine has brought upon them."

"So..." Woe began, lowering the blade slightly so that he could make eye contact with the Baron, "Quacia may fall, but Quacia will always rise again. I will not abandon her, foreignborn or no. If Quacia collapses and dies, there will be nowhere else to go."

That said, he drove the sword back into its sheath, and waited for the King to see the weapons for himself, and chose his champions who would wield them in his name.

[Vito Rossau]

35 YMIDEN, ARC 720

While Woe neared the old Baron, and gestured for another guildsman from Hospitality to bring something over, the Tribunal kept his eyes fixed on Cezario. He might not have done anything truly punishable yet, by most standards, but Vito did not exactly appreciate that he was being given the opportunity to do otherwise. The disrespectful elder should have been escorted out of the court already for disrupting the order of business – though if it were up to the biqaj, he likely would not have let the man in at all.

Having disregarded Woe, Baron Cezario turned to him instead. Vito raised his chin slightly as he met the older man’s gaze, but took a half-step backwards in surprise as a bundle of crumpled scrolls were pushed to his chest. His hands were unfolded and he caught the scrolls before they could fall. Dark brows furrowed, a few strands of his hair fell over his face while he looked down over the scrolls in curious inspection… but before long, he was looking to the Baron again, having dismissed the concerns. It would not do to give in to his ramblings, or to show the court that a Tribunal had considered them for even a trill.

“Enough,” he warned the Baron. The scrolls were set aside without another glance.

Whatever the representative was doing… it made no sense to Vito, but he did not allow his confusion to sour his stern expression. Adding one more disruptive voice to the mix would do them no good, despite his strong disagreement with Woe’s bold statement. He was saying, essentially, that it was alright for their city to fall? That it was fine for their homes to burn, and flood, and turn to rubble beneath their feet?

Of course a foreigner would think so. It was not his home that was at stake, and yet, he spoke of Quacia almost as if he had as much say as any natural-born citizen. The Tribunal’s red gaze lightened until his irises were colored a warm, peachy shade. Various weapons were presented to the king and his court, and Vito recognized the faldrunium that they had recovered before. That had been his plan? To secure the stolen shipment and forge weapons for the elite?

If Vito had any opinion on that, he kept that to himself as well. He found his bearings again as Woe’s speech found its conclusion, and his eyes returned to their neutral, deep green shade, but rather than observe the king’s court, his focus returned to the Baron that they had been called to assist.

“Baron Cezario,” started Vito, his low voice quiet so as not to disturb or be heard by the court. “Your concerns are not unheard. You are correct; all of us fear the Creep, all of us have lost something… and your losses have been most unfortunate.”

A momentary pause, in which he decided that… whether the Baron was calmed, or driven to further hostility by his words, the man would at least be dealt with afterwards. He only had to force his hand a bit.

“Have faith, Baron. Our Lord is strongest when we are weak.”

[Strange]

!

Message from: Strange

Skill Check! The following are taken into account with the results of each PC's actions and what happens next... Woe has... Rhetoric: Competent (26) Psychology: Grandmaster (100) Politics: Competent (46) Persuasion: Competent (36) Leadership: Competent (26) Negotiation: Novice (11) Etiquette: Novice (1) Acting: Unranked (0) Vito has... Persuasion: Unranked (0) Discipline: Competent (30) Intimidation: Competent (30) Deception: Competent (30) Etiquette: Unranked (0) Acting: Unranked (0) Caregiving: Unranked (0) Psychology: Unranked (0)

The Hospitality associate quickly brought the box to Woe, albeit with a vaguely confused expression while doing so. A slight hush had fallen over the court, in confusion as to what the box might have to do with calming Baron Cezario. This very confusion at such a breech of protocol granted Woe the silence required to introduce himself and explain. A few of the nearby Court officials muttered in discontent, however. Woe was not on the docket to speak right now, and to make use of such an opportunity was considered unseemly by those who prioritized proper etiquette.

Yet, the King did not seem to mind - just as he hadn't minded Cezario's outburst - and he similarly waved a dismissive hand for the clerks to stop their muttering and for the Dragoons to ease their stiff-backed stances (as if ready to pounce on Woe, depending on what was inside the box).

Baron Cezario was an old man. He had seen many things in his long life as a Quacian noble. He was no stranger to Empathy magic, but despite this, he was not aware of the manipulating tendrils and voice from the mage beside him. There was, indeed, a sense of hope - so wrapped around in sorrow, but there. The thread of hope trembled like a frightened rabbit would when stuck in a dead-end burrow while a fox waited outside to devour it.

When Woe spoke the words:

... Quacia will be fractured and turned to rubble ...

The entire court gasped in absolute shock that a foreigner might dare to say such a thing in front of the monarchy. A couple Heralds even stood from the bench where they sat, as if personally offended by such a thing. Grumbles washed over a section of the barons, while their wives looked away with disdain.

The box was thrown open, however, and despite the reaction of the Court, the King and Queen seemed quite keen to look at whatever it was that Woe had to offer. They were the few, but not the only ones who turned a curious eye to the longsword. Most notably, Duchess Callisto smiled - the expression hidden behind her netted veil.

... Yet, it will rebuild. With every brick and every stone laid upon the corner of a foundation, Quacia will rise again and again, no matter how many times it is thrown back against its own walls. ...

This gathered a few more to quiet down with their grumbled discontent, and some turned their gazes back to look. Even some of the nobility glanced at each other with slight nods of agreement. Yes, Quacia was a resilient people that had risen from catastrophe again and again. What was different this time from those times in the past?, Woe's words brought the rhetorical question to many among the court.

... Quacia is a city that lives perpetually on the edge of Cataclysm, having survived longer than any other without succumbing to the ravages of decay. Quacia will face the enemy, the very aspect of corruption, to thrust the fiery blade of retribution into its savage heart. ...

That one had a mixed reaction, though. Some of the nobility even snorted at the dramatic nature of the foreigner's insistence, some turned their gazes away again, and the representatives of the Theocratum church looked to the King as if in expectation for this whole scandalous display to be stopped. Yet... at the wings, a slight shuffled adjustment of the stances of the Dragoon soldiers might be seen. As if they were standing a little bit taller than before, a little prouder than they had been before the words had been spoken.

The Faldrunium blade was drawn. This time, the gasps went sounded in such timed harmony that it struck the court with echoes as if one great gasp. There were even some oohs and aahs from the Court audience while they admired the brilliant firey metal. The guild representatives looked at each other in exchanges of various glances, some wary and others smug. Duchess Callisto's eyes grew ever brighter in their yellow colors.

Baron Cezario had all but frozen, for the moment. He had empty hands now, though, as Vito had taken away the scrolls. He glanced between the Tribunal and the foreigner, who... he just felt so hopeful suddenly. Was it the words? Cezario could only assume so, even though it was truly the Empathy magic making way for the thread to rise to the elderly noble's surface.

... The Guilds of War and Hospitality have seen to the forging of seven blades of this kind. To be given by the King to his chosen champions. Champions who must face the Creep when the time is right, and if necessary drive it back into the filth from whence it came....

Those of the Guilds of War and Hospitality radiated their smugness along with Woe's mention of them. They were only one step away from waving at the crowd, so much that the guild leaders puffed out their chests and tried to restrain boastful smiles. The King raised a hand, made a small beckon gesture to one of the Dragoons off to the side. This Dragoon had a different helmet than the others, with a plume of scarlet red feathers that swayed side to side while he marched forward.

Cezario looked interested, but he didn't dare get closer to the blade while the Dragoon General approached. Woe continued his offer of the blade as a gift, to the court and the monarchy that ruled over it. The Dragoon did pause, however, when Woe turned his attention back to Baron Cezario.

...Quacia may fall, but Quacia will always rise again. I will not abandon her, foreignborn or no. If Quacia collapses and dies, there will be nowhere else to go....

The sword was returned to its sheath.

Somewhere among the audience, a lone clapping could be heard. Someone had gotten enthused enough that they had started to clap... but... it echoed, a lonely little thing that none of the other factions joined in with. Duchess Callisto did, though, but with a tiny little meeting of her fingers against the palm of her hand in a silent court clap. A few people turned to look at who had clapped, but as soon as they turned - it stopped with a hasty clearing of the throat.

Baron Cezario looked to the Tribunal when he was spoken to, in quiet hush. The elderly man frowned slightly, hands lowered, and stance slouched now rather than bold like it had been.

Have faith, Baron. Our Lord is strongest when we are weak.

Intimidated by the Tribunal's calm, and encouraged by the thread of hope drawn to his surface, Baron Cezario slowly nodded in seeming agreement - though his frown suggested that it was not sincere. He glanced, however, past the Tribunal...

...and Cezario's eyes grew wide as saucers. Woe, if still in touch with the man's tangle, would feel a sudden powerful wave as the thread of hope multiplied in an entire tapestry of disbelief yet profound hope! It smothered all the other threads there, for the moment, even the sorrow.

For at the entrance to the open space, from the Court audience, a woman had appeared in wait to be let through. She had curly gray hair pinned up with pearls, and a fine dress of silk in a traditional old style with a shawl wrapped around her modest shoulders.

"Virginia?" said Cezario, his disbelief coming across in the tremor of his voice. "You're alive!"

He hobbled past the Tribunal, uncaring now for the Empath mage, and waved his hands for the Dragoons to move aside. "Let her through! That's my wife!"

The Dragoons glanced at the General, who glanced at the King, and a series of simple waves to allow for it proceeded. After all, it was only a little old man with a little old lady, both known nobles for decades among the Court.

"My Cezar," said Baroness Virginia while she walked past the guards and placed her hands on Cezario's face in warm greeting. She wiped away a tear of overwhelm that escaped the elderly man. "I told you everything would be alright, if you were just patient. Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I thought... Geena, I thought the Creep had killed you, my dear," insisted Cezario without care for the mass audience that surrounded them. The man hugged her close, then let her go quick as that was a scandalous display of affection in public like they were.

"Your faith always did waver," she quietly mentioned but she walked past him, with sharp blue eyes that glanced over Woe and the blade. "But I do come with a message for the King and his Queen."

The little old woman strode forward, and despite her petite elderly nature, she did not hobble like her husband. She seemed perfectly healthy. She folded her lace-gloved hands in front of her and said, "Your Majesty, I apologize for going out of order but if I might be permitted to relay some information that I gathered on the outskirts of the baronies, in regard to the Creep."

She glanced at the Tribunal and mortalborn, then, in expectation for them to leave.

King Estavao seemed rather amused by this, or perhaps he was amused by the frazzled huffs of the clerks who were scrambling to figure out how to reorder and organize the court proceedings for all of the unexpected and unscheduled occurrences. He nodded, then gestured to the Dragoon General.

The General went over to take the sword and the box from Woe with a simple comment, "We will take these into storage now. Thank you."

Barring Woe's refusal to hand it over, the Dragoon would take the Faldrunium swords away into a sideroom. It would be the General who would check the weapons and their efficacy, not the King.

And the Court waited for Woe and Vito to return to their positions as part of the audience, while curious about whatever Baroness Virginia might have to say. Cezario stayed near her, but gave her the proper etiquette of space while she awaited to speak to the King. The baroness stood in the center of the royal seal, uncaring for the slight dried mess of blood that remained from the previous sacrifice.

[Woe]

Woe felt drained, as he often did when speaking to large groups and using Empathy. His exhaustion wasn't exactly for the fact that he'd used his magics, their toll on his energies was relatively light at his level of magic expertise. But it was the blocking out of the emotional resonance of the crowd, as their mood ebbed and flowed with every word he said. It became too much at times.

Still, there was a moment or two during his speech that Woe felt once more that he'd missed his calling. He'd confessed to the professor Thetys in Andaris once that he wished he'd had the opportunity to become an actor. The professor had offered to grant him tickets to the mummer's show or the opera, which was an extravagant offer. Woe hadn't taken him up on it, which was a lasting regret for him. He pondered how his life might've unfolded differently if he had.

But soon enough, the time for performing was over. Yet the show was far from done, as Woe sensed an abiding hope in the old man that he hadn't anticipated he'd be able to bring out. Nothing shy of an actual reason to hope could've elicited such a dramatic change. With that, Woe turned with the rest of the court to behold Virginia, the Baroness that had gone into the Creep. Woe was rather shocked when they introduced her as the man's wife. Had she uncovered some way to exist undetected by the Creep? Or... Woe remembered what Llyr had told him about changelings. Could this be such a one?

Woe let the men take the weapons away and moved back over toward Callisto. For the moment he said nothing but waited for the audience to begin. Yet even as he held his silence, he tuned in to her tapestry, searching the surface of what would be her tangle for clues as to what she might be, or what she'd seen out there in the savage wilds.

He furrowed his brow, at first having difficulty tuning into her tangle. Then, something strange happened...

[Vito Rossau]

35 YMIDEN, ARC 720

Baron Cezario was less than bothered by his words, Vito could tell. The foreign representative had seemed to instill some sense of confidence within him with his words, but the Tribunal could not help but feel the slightest of disappointments at seeing the Baron simply nod. It was what he had been going for, that… he had only meant to help calm. Why did a part of him wish to see the man unhinged? His eyes lingered there, on the old noble’s frown, even as a Dragoon approached the daring Woe and his faldrunium offerings – until the Baron’s eyes went wide.

With a turn, he followed Baron Cezario’s gaze to the entrance. A woman of similar age and clear nobility stood by, with the expectation of being let in, despite her lateness… and as soon as the Baron called out, she was.

Vito took a step back. His shock was, momentarily, displayed upon his face in the furrowing of his dark brows and the parting of his lips. The Baron’s wife – and it seemed that the man himself was just as surprised as the rest of them to see her. Baroness Virginia was dead, if the whispers he had overheard were to be believed, and yet there she stood, healthy and strong in appearance. What, then, was to be believed? Had it been a lie? The work of a necromancer? Yet he could not imagine that any mage could achieve such astounding success.

In any case, he raised his chin and banished the surprise from his pale features. The attention might not have been on him, but he was still standing in clear view of the entire royal court. He would not make an embarrassment of himself for anyone that might have happened to glance his way. Vito observed through a wary red gaze as the Baroness took her place at the center of the royal seal, and directly addressed their King and Queen. It was not his place to tell her to do otherwise, no matter how much the disrespectful disruption bothered the Tribunal.

As Woe handed over the prized faldrunium weapons and then found his place among the court again, Vito looked to the King and Queen, bowed deeply in respect, and then did the same. With his head held high and his hands folded neatly behind his back, he rejoined his fellow Tribunals within the Theocratum’s section. To his right, Tribunal Leonor did her best to withhold the tears that still threatened at her eyes, and Vito quieted her annoying sniffling with a pointed glare… and then looked forward to watch the court proceed.